The Ninth Book 1: Ascension
by nxr4912
Summary: Red has just won the Kanto League, and is returning home from his journey. He soon discovers he is in terrible danger. He is being pursued by a man, a ruthless killer who won't stop until he acquires his target. Just like the men who sent him. First Book of the Ninth trilogy. Will only publish second book if I receive good reviews and ratings. Please R&R.
1. The End of the Beginning

"BLASTOISE, FINISH THIS! HYDRO-CANNON!"

The massive turtle roared, its body covered in cuts and bruises. A streak of blood ran from a large scar on the side of his face. The sound emanating from the beast was fierce, the sound of a freight train at full speed. It shook the battlefield and sent rocks and dust flying.

The audience in the stands cowered in their seats, unable to face the monster on the stadium floor.

Yet the one who should have been frightened most, the one whom the sound was directed to, stood calmly on his side of the arena. His dark hair was streaked with dirt and grime, and sweat ran down his thin face. His eyes, as red as the blood flowing from his opponent, were fixed on the battle, his concentration never wavering despite the fierce roar coming from the other end of the battle field. His clothes, a dark red vest and white shirt, with black pants and white shoes, were covered in dust. Yet he stood still, not even fazed by the opponent.

The Blastoise reared up, charging an orb of water in his maw that glowed with some godlike energy. With a final roar, it launched a huge jet of white water from his belly. The sheer size and power of the blast would have torn the entire stadium down, yet it was somehow controlled by the Blastoise, directed on one thing-his opponent, his adversary, his rival.

The said rival simply stood there, but something flashed in his dark red eyes. He gave a deft nod to his own pokemon, a massive dragon-like beast. In its eyes glinted something primeval and ancient. The fires of its reptilian ancestors burst from its crimson tail, a flame so hot it was blue. Something old had been awakened inside, the fierce spirit along with the cold intelligence that existed in side every lizard, snake, and crocodile in the world. It was what made them look so evil-the glint of a cold, hard, mind in the body of a beast from the depths of hell. With a roar matching the sound of the jet of water rushing toward the Charizard, it rose into the the air, beating its massive red wings, creating a miniature cyclone in the air as it ascended with surprising speed into the sky.

The Blastoise and his trainer were surprised. There was nothing they could do against the Charizard's subtle but efficient dodge, as Blastoise was already at the ends of his strength simply controlling the jet of water, which, without any opposition, shot below it's intended target and slammed into the opposite wall, causing an explosion with a shockwave so large it knocked everything back a few feet.

The earth was ripped into pieces by the explosion, and a cloud of smoke, dust, and steam covered the entire stadium. Those in the stands were blinded by the cloud, unable to see anything more than 2 inches in front of them.

The sheer power of the Hydro Cannon was awe inspiring. Had it hit, it surely would have been a fatal blow to the Charizard. But as the smoke and dust cleared, they saw the silhouette of the massive reptilian, rising a few feet above the shattered ground, hovering defiantly at its opponent.

The entire arena was silent. There was no sound, as if someone had pressed the mute button.

"Blast burn."

The command was so soft, so quiet, barely even a whisper, that no one would have heard had the explosion not shocked them into silence. As it was, the entire stadium heard it. Eyes widened, a little in awe, a little in fright, as the silent but fatal command was given. Across the field, the trainer's opponent, his dark brown hair in awry, covered in dirt and dust, gasped. There was nothing he could do. Blastoise needed to recharge after the hydro cannon. Resistance was futile. Everything was futile. It was over.

The Charizard's roar filled the stadium. Every hair stood up as the ground itself shook, the foundations of the arena threatening to come loose. With one beat of its massive wings, it rose higher into the air and spun, the flame at the end of its tail larger than ever. Slowly the flames covered the lizard, until it was so complete that it looked like the dragon was glowing, ancient reptilian heart awoken. The only part of the Charizard visible was its eyes, red like his trainer's, hard like the stars. The flames across its body continued to grow, until the entire beast was encompassed in a fiery orb, heat emanating from it, melting everything within ten feet. Only it's trainer was unharmed, as he was used to this show of raw, pure, unimaginable cosmic power from his pokemon.

The orb continued to grow, until all were looking at a wall of fire. Even Charizard, cocooned inside the ball, felt the heat as he strained his muscles, skin boiling.

And then it began to spin.

Faster and faster, until the air crackled with fire, as Charizard flipped forward, lounging the orb of fire, flames ripping away from his skin as they hurtled to his dumbstruck enemy below.

The Blastoise could do nothing.

The ball of fire was so loud it couldn't even be heard.

It slammed into the ground, 20 feet away from the turtle.

Chunks of the battlefield were hurtled away by the impact.

The orb of fire was now a wave, gathering the remaining pieces of the arena as it advanced forward.

The Blastoise looked on as a colossal wall of fire and stone came toward it.

It was over.

Across the world, in a dark windowless room, six men sat around a dark wooden table, watching the battle on the large screen in front of them. The screen kept flickering- the battle was too much to process.

The men looked on the battle without so much as a flicker of emotion. They weren't important men, nor were they powerful men. They looked as if they were cut from stone.

Non of them had money, power, or fame. Most were low-level government employees, their professions ranging from military intelligence to paperwork in the back offices of the Department of Health. They were unified only in their singular dream: a dream to make the world a better place.

Non of them had a family, not even a girlfriend. They were born in the darkness that comes with government offices of all kinds, raised in shadows and secrecy. It wouldn't have mattered if they were young or old. Their entire lives consisted on going from place to place, filling out paperwork and staring at tiny computer screens in a sea of cubicles. They were ordinary, normal people in a place were life moved in a flurry of activity. They never went home, always moving with the same mundane energy.

Simple put, they were men with things to do and places to be. Nothing more, nothing less.

They were also the men who were the head of the deadliest organization in the world.

Someone pushed a button and the screen flickered off, leaving the room in near darkness save for a low light on the ceiling.

"So we're agreed then," someone asked. It didn't matter who-they all sounded the same.

There were nods all around the table.

Nothing more was said as the speaker picked up a phone, the single item on the table.

"Target acquired." He spoke without dialing. The phone only connected to one number, and it was the only phone that did so. "Send him in."

The man put down the phone, then stood up and left the room. One by one, the rest of them followed. As the walked out the door, they forgot all about the meeting, the battle, the organization, as they had trained themselves to do. The group only existed in the one room, were a bunch of grey-faced ordinary men did the impossible. Once out the door, they were the same men they had been for their entire lives. Unknown, unnamed, unimagined men.

Men with things to do and places to be.


	2. Cold and Clear

The arena was a twisted mass of steel and glass. The spectators alone had been unharmed, protected as they were by an army of physics types who had thrown a wall of energy around them.

They streamed out of the ruined battled field, which was still smoking from the battle. They walked unsteadily, legs skating so badly that it took all of their energy not to fall down. The youngest among them felt as if they had grown a few years, and oldest felt as if they were already dead. It truly had been a battle that would never be forgotten. Legends would be made about it, songs, books, movies and even poems created on the battle. It had imprinted itself on three generations of the human race, and it would be a bedtime story for the wide eyed children fidgeting in the bed of the future.

The subjects of the battle had been whisked away to a nearby hospital for immediate medical attention. The Blastoise was in critical condition, but as strong as it was, the doctors were assured it would make a full recovery, with only one drawback-due to the extent of its injuries, the giant turtle's battling days were over. As the proud pokemon was whisked away by at least 10 doctors and nurses and several Machamp, tears fell from its eyes. Battling was all he had ever known. Now he would have to live its life without it.

Even the Charizard was not exempt from injuries. Conjuring up the blast burn had taken its toll on the dragon-lizard, and although its injuries were not as severe as the Blastoise's, burns, cuts, blood and bruises covered its body.

As for the trainers, they were put up in the same room, lying in hospital beds across each other. It was nearly impossible to discern one from the other, covered as they were in sheets,bandages, and blood.

All in all, the whole battle had been brutal, not just the finale. Scores of blows were exchanged between all twelve pokemon, six on each sides. The battle had raged on for three days, short 3-hour breaks taken in several intervals so the trainers could get some rest. Emergency medics had been called out countless times to whisk out fallen pokemon, as neither side gave in until they were only a hairs width away from death. Neither trainer had slept in 72 hours, even during the breaks, too keyed up and adrenaline pumped. Now they slept without a break, drifting in and out of consciousness and strange dreams.

Another three days passed before the two trainers were well enough to stay awake for more than an hour and another passed before they could even sit up in bed.

7 days after the beginning of the end of a long journey for both of them. Finally the doctors determined they were well enough to stand visitors.

"RED!" They name was shouted before the source of the voice was even visible. Footsteps thundered on the blank marble hallways of the hospital as a middle-aged woman, her face aged with worry and weariness, threw herself into the room and fling herself onto one of the boys, sobbing. Tears flowed down her face, drenching the crimson eyed boy's sheets as he awkwardly hugged his mother. Despite that, however, the boy's love for his mother was evident as he clutched at her, as if she was about to be torn away from him. He was just eleven years old, having left in his journey the year before. He hadn't seen his mother for much of that time. No boy should have to live like that. His own tears soon joined his mother's on the hospital sheets.

Finally, the somber embrace broke as Lily Katsaris untangled herself from her son and examined him closely. Most of the bandages had come off, but there were still scars all over him. Scars, she knew, would be with him for the rest of her life. They would be a reminder of his journey for all time. But she didn't care. Her son was back.

Across the expansive hospital room, next the large window, lay another boy. Red's opponent, rival, and best friend Blue. It was a strange thing, their friendship. The two boys were as radically different as they could be, rivals in everything. Yet, they were bonded by a burning passion which had guided them throughout their lives. The passion to win, to never give up, to always succeed. The passion to prove themselves, which had cemented their friendship and caused the boys to constantly come through for each other in times of need, despite their never ceasing fights. Fights, Lily noted, that, ever since pokemon were introduced to it, had taken their toll on both boys.

And now it was over. At least, she hoped so. Because while for Red the burning passion inside of him had always been there, an integral part of his character, for Blue it was more deeper. For Blue it was all about proving himself to his never present grandfather, the eminent professor Samuel Oak. Despite herself, she constantly worried about him. And why shouldn't she? She was the closest thing to a mother he had. Her eyes blurred with tears as she recalled Blue's mother, Christina Oak, who had died in childbirth. Blue's father didn't survive long after that, distressed by grief, eventually committing suicide. She, Red, the old professor, and his older, also not present sister were all the family had. Lily strode over to the other bed and hugged Blue, who had been staring at Red and Lily's reunion with tears glistening in his eyes. Neither his grandfather nor his sister had managed to show up, and he clutched at Lily as if she was his own mother. In a way she was, seeing as she had raised him and Red by herself. Two boys with a fiery ambition bigger than themselves. How she had managed, Blue didn't know.

As he hugged his adopted mother, he locked eyes with his rival across the room. Nothing was spoken, but they came to an understanding. It was over. After a year of fights, hardship, and troubles, it was all over. Red had won, and Blue had lost. Both boys felt their hearts ache when they recognized this. They both knew that in the end, only one would win. Now that it had happened, they realized their lives would never be the same. Red would always be held in higher regard than Blue. It would always be Red, and then Blue. Never more would be buried under a never-ending equality.

It was over.

Both of them felt a peace in their hearts.

But slowly, the momentary peace left.

And a certain uneasiness spilled in.

For Red, it was because there would be no more challenges, no more battles, no more desperation. He craved not those battles which he won with ease, but those that brought him to the edge, forcing him to think fast and quickly, adrenaline filling his body. That was the spirit of battle, in which both sides were equal and fighting, using all their strength, trying to find a winner. Where every blow could mean the end. But now as champion, it wouldn't happen. He was the strongest trainer in Kanto. Perhaps there would be more challenges abroad, but silently, he knew that they didn't exist. He had won.

It was over.

For Blue, it was because he had had failed to prove himself to the world. And he would never again get a chance to do so. For he knew that, next to Red, he was the most powerful trainer in the world. Only Red was stronger than him, and Blue couldn't bring himself to face Red again. It would be too much, the battle ending only in death and unwanted glory. And yet no one else could pose a challenge to Blue. He had lost to Red, but in doing so, had showed that he could win against everybody else.

It was over.

It was this silent understanding which washed over them like a wave. Like Blue's wounded Blastoise, they both knew one thing. Their battling days were over.

It was all over.

The silent man stared up into the night sky as the helicopter receded into the inky blackness, fading slowly. In a moment it was gone.

A light breeze blew through the field, the grass at his feet rustling softly.

The man had been born only 9 hours ago, an hour more than it took him to reach his destination.

When he had first opened his eyes, he had been hungry. Hunger not of body but of mind. He needed a purpose, and objective, a mission.

When he had opened his eyes, he had gotten it.

"Acquire the target. Kill all those around it. Leave none alive."

His mind was now filled with a cold, clear sense of purpose. He was no longer hungry.

He had been equipped in an hour with the instruments required to complete his mission. These included a small .22 pistol, a recording device pinned onto his suit, a small lighter, and six pokeballs. He didn't need anything else.

The man was a mystery. He didn't exist. He was a shadow, a relentless hunter who would pursue his quarry to the ends of the earth. And when he had finished, it would all be over. He would die.

He looked at the last item which had been given to him. A photograph, identifying the target,given to him at the last second. The purpose was now complete. He would pursue the target. He would track him down and take him.

He took a long, silent look at the photograph. The thing that struck him the most was the eyes. Red as blood.

The man took out the lighter and set the photograph on fire. He would complete the mission.

The wind picked up, and carried away the ashes, scattering them across the world. The man didn't see it. He was already gone.

Soon, it would all be over.


	3. Shattered Glass

Pallet Town.

It came out in front of them like a dream. Houses emerged slowly, filling their vision, dotting the hilly terrain. The town was nestled in between two hills in front of the ocean, a tiny mass of colorful little towns in front of a white, sandy beach. Forest surrounded them, and the cries of pokemon filled the air.

It was paradise.

The jeep rolled and bounced along get dirt road, spewing black smoke into the air. It was not the preferred ride, but Pallet didn't have an airport or a ship port. Even a helicopter couldn't land here, as the forest covered nearly everything other than the town itself.

Sitting in the back, Red and Blue, the two newest legends of the Pokemon League, stared out at the passing landscape. It was noon, and the light caressed everything. Small Rattata burst out from underneath the foliage, and Pidgey and Spearow squabbled in the air.

Both of them though back to a year ago, when the two first started their journey along this route, Route 1. They had been wide eyed, curios and happy children then. Now they felt like old men, battle hardened and weary.

Sitting in the back seat, they felt every bump and jolt along the way. Neither paid attention to it. It was the first time they had seen their home in 12 months.

In the passenger seat sat Lily Katsaris, who was also thinking back a year, as she had watched from the edge of Route 1 at her two squabbling boys. The beginning of a journey which nearly cost them their lives.

Next to her, expertly navigating the jeep along the dusty road was none other than Professor Samuel Oak. He had picked them up at the airport Viridian City. After small pleasantries and congratulations on his part, he had led them to a small rented jeep without saying a word. He hadn't spoken more than three sentences to his grandson.

Now they could see the laboratory of the professor, rising up the tallest hill, higher than any other house, the windmill in front spinning lazily. Below it stretched a large flat field, surrounded by the forest and the sea. The whole area stretched across sixty acres, home to thousands of pokemon. Walking in there was tough, as tiny pokemon scampered around their feet.

Ten minutes later, they were seated in the expansive waiting room of the professor's laboratory, seated on comfortable chairs and sipping a lemony sweet tea prepared by one of the assistants.

After a while, the professor spoke. "Well, I believe another round of congratulations are in order. Red, Blue, you have made it to the top. You have conquered the Pokemon League, and are now the most accomplished trainers in Kanto. Well done." The professor smiled, and Red and his mother smiled back. Only Blue saw past Oak's benevolent smile, into the great mind, great cogs turning and turning, always thinking, planets and light years away.

He looked at the colorful town in front of him. Analyzing, calculating, figuring out the next step. Not even taking into account the tiny paradise laid out in front of him.

Viridian City. It had taken him 3 days to get here. He had arrived, coincidentally, at the same time as Red and Blue. But it was impossible to do anything in the crowded airport terminal, filled with tourists taking in the scenery, laughing and taking pictures everywhere. Instead, he silently followed them out of the airport toward the tiny parking lot, and watched them drive away from the city.

The words rang in his mind.

"Acquire the target. Kill all those around it. Leave none alive."

He should have taken them. He should have followed them at least. He should have completed the mission. The cold clear purpose flooded his mind, driving him forward.

But as he watched them enter the car, something had stopped him.

Pain, like lightning, flashed into his head, stopping him cold. It was momentary pain, and in any other circumstances he would have continued forward.

But what had stopped him in his tracks was what came with the pain.

Memories, like broken glass, shattered into his mind.

Flashes of light.

Voices.

Faces, nothing more than ghosts.

Pain, again, this time bringing him to his knees.

Another memory. Running.

Another flash. Agony.

Voices, muddled and mixed, unable to be distinguished.

They came like lightening into his mind. He lay on the ground, writhing in pain.

Running.

Fire.

Pain.

Blood.

Death.

A voice, rising higher than the rest.

Running.

Fire.

Pain.

Death.

"We need to get out of here! Abort, abort!"

Running, fire, pain, death, running, fire, pain, death, blood, so much blood, running, fire pain, death.

"Let's go! Come on soldier, let's move!"

Runningfirepaindeathrunningfirepaindeath...

It blurred into his mind, the memories shifting. More faces, memories he couldn't remember.

Blood. So much blood.

"Get up! Get up! GET UP!"

A scream. He didn't know whose. Memory and reality mixed.

"JIM!"

A final scream, a final pain, and then...

Silence.

The purpose returned. Cold, clear and simple. He forgot the pain, the memory. He got up from the ground. The sweat left his body as he watched the smoke from the jeep vanish.

His mind was empty now. Gone were the memories and the pain.

The mission returned. The purpose filled his head.

Cold.

Clear.

Simple.

"Acquire the target. Kill all those around it. Leave none alive."

He started forward. He would complete the mission.


	4. As Night Fell

It was dusk. The sun set lazily above the sea. Warm golden rays stretched out, caressing Pallet Town, lighting up livings rooms as the inhabitants returned to their homes, enjoying the last minutes of the day. The air was hazy with the heat, smothering the valley like a warm blanket.

It was peaceful, quiet. There was a tiny wind, gentle and soft, touching and dragging its smooth fingers along everything. There was little noise. The waves lapped up against the small beach, and the trees rang with the chirping of bugs.

It would have set peace to the most ruthless of hearts, this last paradise in the kingdom of men.

But Red was still uneasy. He had been restless all day, and now he walked quickly along Professor Oak's wide open grounds. Pokemon of all kinds stretched out before him, but he only had eyes for six of them.

There, laid out before them in perpetual calm, was his team. Powerful, colossal beasts, they took up a wide area for themselves. No other pokemon, not even the bravest Rhydon, would come near them. Here the legends lay, godlike among the humble peasants of Professor Oak's yard.

Red first saw his Snorlax, whose massive belly came far before the rest of his body. He was stretched out on his back, snoring softly. Despite his appearance, Red knew Snorlax was really awake and aware of everything going on around him.

Perched on top of Snorlax's belly was Pikachu, the golden mouse rising and falling with the respiration of the massive beast. His cheeks buzzed lightly with sparks, electrifying the air around him.

In the wide lake was his Gyrados, her scales glittering a deep sapphire tinged with midnight blue, her mane a light gold, her maw bluer than the bluest sky. She yawned heavily, showing off her brilliant white teeth, and Red smiled. It seemed that both of his heaviest hitters, Snorlax and Gyrados, were also the most laziest. Next to the lake on the lone tree perched his Pidgeot, his feathers a deep brown, his underbelly a strange vanilla coloring. His mane, a set of brightly covered hairs running from his head, rested on his broad back. Red remembered the time when Pidgeot had been a tiny baby, unable to carry even a Rattata. Now he was so large he could carry and army of them.

Underneath the tree, resting under the shade, was his Espeon. She alone was wide awake, although she didn't look it. Her mind was reaching out, touching every living thing close to her, reading their thoughts and soaking up knowledge. She was probably the most intelligent pokemon he had, since she practically absorbed the knowledge of everyone she met, storing it into the wide recesses of her mind. It was through her that Red learned new battle techniques, her help that he sought when in danger, for he knew she was infinitely wiser than him.

Now her mind caressed him, like an old friend, and Red allowed her to shift through his memories, pick out her favorites, and then enjoy them as if they were own.

His pokemon were all powerful, all legends. But there was only one pokemon on that could match them all with his own strength.

He stretched out at the center of the whole team, his wings spread out on either side, combined reaching a glorious 60 feet.

Charizard. At the end of his tail glowed a fire, which threatened to burn very thing near him. His body radiated heat as Red approached him.

Charizard. His most trusted partner. His second in command. His first partner, brother on his journey. He had been with him the longest, had shared all of Red's victories, defeats, and glory. Now he lay before Red, as if one of the heathen gods.

Red sat next to him. Charizard, sensing his training, reared up his massive head and let out a blow of red hot fire into the sky. Red smiled and pressed himself against Charizard's burning skin, unfelt by him as he was used to it.

Charizard was red, unlike most other Charizard, who are orange. He had this color his whole life, and it was partly because of that that Red chose him for a starter.

Red like me, he thought. Red with a fire, everlasting, ever burning. Red smiled as he thought about Charizard when he was a Charmander. He had been tiny then. Red had been able to pick him up with one hand. Now, look at him. Red had no idea how Charizard had gotten to this size. He could only surmise that it was their bond which had made him grow stronger and larger than the rest of his brethren.

Red leaned against his starter. Espeon prodded delicately toward him, lifting up his arm and laying underneath it. Pikachu bounded across Snorlax and perched onto his shoulder, nipping his ear.

After a while, Red felt his eyes close. As he drifted off to sleep, he recalled the uneasiness he had felt all day.

Now, though, the master was at peace.

Night had fallen over Pallet. A cool breeze blew from the sea, taking the temperature down several degrees. A few cold hard stars dotted the sky, not twinkling or glistening, simply staring at the earth below with pitiful wisdom. The moon was just hard, shining light onto the town below.

In the forest, hidden in the trees, stepped out the man. He had been watching the target for some time now as he had greeted his partner. Now he stood silent among the trees, as unwelcome as death. The death that he would bring.

"Acquire the target. Kill all those around it. Leave none alive."

He was about to fulfill his purpose.


	5. As the Moonlight Dances

Red awoke slowly. It was still night. Around him, the air felt cold and hard. Not even a faint breeze flowed through the air.

Next to him lay his pokemon, still sleeping, each awake though in their own dreams.

He stood up slowly, mindful that his pokemon still surrounded him. Pikachu had somehow managed to fall asleep on Charizard's head in the middle of the night.

The night felt alien, almost evil. He felt like an unwanted trespasser, who had gone where he wasn't supposed to go.

He turned around, taking in the surrounding field. Something caught at his eye, glinting.

It was a campfire, closer to the surrounding forest than to him. Red frowned. There shouldn't be anyone but him out here. Who was it.

As he walked toward the fire, he was aware of something brushing against his leg.

Espeon. Nothing more needed to be said.

He and his pokemon walked toward the fire. As the approached, they saw the figure sitting in front of it.

It was a man. He had dark skin, which glowed with some unforeseeable energy. He work a black jacket, tight against his chest, with a red line running down the right side. Black pants, black combat boots. Long, dark, flowing hair. His left eye was covered by an eyepatch. A long angry red scar ran above and below it, separating his mouth into two pieces, all the way down his neck, under his jacket.

Something alerted Red about the men. Perhaps it was the way he was sitting, cross-legged in front of the fire, hands on his knees, perfectly still. Perhaps it was the fact that there seemed to be a constant flowing energy around him. Perhaps it was the man's breathing. Long, and deep, he exhaled every bit of breath from his lungs before he inhaled.

Red and Espeon sat themselves opposite to him in front of the fire. For a long moment nothing happened. Then the man stood. Red could see, underneath the man's clothes, every single muscle in his body, contributing their own part to his motions. There was nothing choppy about his movements. He flowed, like water, cold and clear.

The man walked away from Red, past the the lake, all the way to the seashore. There he stood, waiting quietly.

Red instantly understood. He followed the men, stopping only to return his pokemon into their balls.

They reached the seashore.

The man stood opposite to Red. The wind had picked up. It blew at both silent figures, who stood still against the stiff sea breeze.

Across from each other, both figures locked eyes. An understanding passed between.

Both reached for their belts, where six orbs hangs.

Both figures, as black as the night they were in, chose one. Fingering the orb, the looked at each other again.

An understanding, from one silent being to another. Only a true master would understand.

It was a challenge.

They stood for a while, time stretching into eternity.

Then they both tossed their orbs on to the sandy beach below their feet.

The battle had begun.

Soon it would be over.


	6. Master of None

Across the world, in a dark, windowless room, six men sat around a dark wooden table with nothing on it but a single phone. The men were grey faced, stone like.

Men who, under any other circumstances, had things to do and places to be.

They were united with a single purpose. A goal. A dream.

And the first steps to achieving it would begin tonight.

In front of them, the silver screen flickered on.

They would rise tonight.

The battle had begun.

The waves gently lapped against the white shore. The moon pierced through the heavens, giving the world an eerie, dreamlike glow. All was silent.

And yet the battle had begun.

Both figures stood across from each other, their masters behind them. On one side stood a bipedal catlike creature, with sharp claws and a crown on its head. It snarled, showing off sharp, feline teeth.

Across from it stood the true feline. Glowing with a violet aura, the jewel in its head catching the moonlight, glinting, its sharp red eyes staring fixedly at its opponent.

A Weavile, thought Red. He's got a Weavile.

This was not good. Espeon was a psychic type. None of its more powerful attacks would so much as touch the Ice/Dark combination. Plus, his Pokemon was at a disadvantage in the night.

I shouldn't have chosen her, he thought. The battle's only begun and I already made a mistake.

He would soon realize that he would pay dearly for it.

The six men stared silently at the screen, watching the two figures. The man stood silently, as did the boy. But the boy was tense. He was rigid, staring straight onto the battle, realizing his mistake. Feeling the pain his pokemon would go through.

That was why their man was perfect. He felt nothing.

It had taken years to perfect the technique, but they, those nondescript men, had somehow managed it. To create the perfect killer. One with the intelligence of man, but the emotionlessness of a snake. The perfect hunter. One who felt nothing, understood nothing but his purpose.

And soon, if they had their way, no one else would too.

The man didn't need to command his pokemon. It understood immediately what to do.

The Weavile bent low, its sharp claws glowing with energy. It seemed to suck the very essence of darkness right out of the night. With a low cry, the Weavile charged, a shadow on the field. It blurred in and out of the darkness, right, left, right, left. A shadow in the shadows.

Nightslash, thought Red. Very bad.

What do I do? Espeon's voice was slow and sure in his head, slowly piecing together the words of the unfamiliar language together.

The shadows enveloped the oncoming creature. It was a blur of darkness. It couldn't be seen any more.

Red?

Red stared straight ahead.

Red!

Suddenly the shadow materialized two feet in from of Espeon, rushing toward her with unimaginable speed.

LIGHT SCREEN!

Time slowed down. The dark shadow around Weavile came of like a coat, gathering in its claws as it made the final, fatal leap toward its target.

Suddenly a wall of light materialized in front of Espeon, milliseconds away from the speeding opponent. The Weavile was unable to stop as it careened toward the wall, slamming into it, causing an explosion that launched both it and Espeon backwards as psychic met dark.

The sand ripped around the four figures, smothering them.

As the dust settled down, Red saw that a sinkhole had been made, separating him and his opponent. There would be no chance for a second Nightslash.

Espeon lay at his feet. Slowly, she got back up, and Red was relieved to see that she was alright.

Close too much.

Sorry.

Across the field, Red could make out one, no two figures. The Weavile was still up, not even breathing hard.

This is going to be really tough.

Next? Espeon, despite the advantage, remained vigilant-she would see this through to the end.

Alright, thought Red. Let's do...

His thoughts were cut off by motion at the other end. The Weavile was standing, conjuring a ball of pure darkness.

Dark Pulse. Uh-oh.

With a cry it launched the orb at Espeon, who barely managed to dodge it. Suddenly there was another, and another, until the whole sky was filled with orbs, slamming into the ground one after the other. There was no way Espeon could keep this up.

How does it do that?! There is no way it can launch that many Dark pulses at the same time.

But the Weavile continued to fire the orbs, which fell like bombs from the sky., causing huge explosions of sand. Red could so nothing but grit his teeth in agony as Espeon frantically tried to dodge. He tried to recall her, but the explosions knocked him back, creating a sandstorm, naming it impossible to see.

Finally Espeopn made a bad move, slipping just for a second on the sleek sand. A jet of dark orbs slammed into her, knocking her further and further into the ground.

Esssssss!

The Dark Pulses kept coming. Espeon was pinned, trying to stay conscious as the super-effective orbs continued to crash into her. She was quite literally nailed into the ground, past all the sand, onto the stone underneath. Explosions of darkness filled Red's vision. He heard cry, over and over again, but there was nothing he could. The darkness blocked the psychic link, he couldn't reach her.

A wall of darkness rushed onto her. The Weavile was somehow shooting the dark pulses in a jet. It slammed into her with the force of a freight train.

Something pulled at Red as he stood motionless.

You have to save her. You can't let her die!

He ran out onto the battle field, trying to save his pokemon. Above the moon was blacked out as the darkness created by the Weavile rushed in.

"PLEASE STOP! YOU'VE GOT TO STOP! YOU'LL KILL HER!"

The darkness stopped. Light returned.

The battlefield was a war zone. Sinkholes were every. Half the sand was in the sea, the other half coating the battlefield.

Red moved, dreamlike, to the massive crater at the center of the ruined battlefield.

Inside lay his pokemon.

There was no sound.

Red climbed down to the broken and bloodied body below. There were only faint tinges of violet remaining. The rest was all red. Red could see the white of bone peeking out from her body. The jewel on her forehead was broken, half of it missing, lost in the sand.

He bent down, touching her face gently. She couldn't turn, couldn't move.

Something crackled in his head, like a bad connection on the radio. Static.

He heard her voice, already so far away, drifting of to lands he would never know.

Take...care...

Below him, she heaved. Blood spurted out of fresh wounds. The moon shine directly onto her, illuminating her body.

No, please, no. I don't want to see this. Not this.

Of...Vee...

That was it. He heard nothing more.

"No, Espeon. No...NO!"

He sobbed, tears mixing with the blood, already drying, below.

He heard a light footstep above him. He looked up.

The Weavile stood, no emotion on its face.

It scrambled slowly down.

It touched Espeon with its claws.

Checking for a pulse, thought Red, his thoughts murky.

A moment later the Weavile scampered up the slope to its trainer. Only then did Red realize the simple, inevitable truth.

The Weavile nor the man had stopped because he had yelled. That was just coincidence. They had stopped because they were satisfied. They thought they had done it.

Done what? Come on, think. Slowly he put the shattered fragments of his mind back together. It hit him hard.

A cold sweat broke out over him.

They didn't stop when he yelled. They had stopped because they thought they had killed her.

This wasn't a game anymore. This was dead serious.

The man was playing to kill.

He had gotten himself into something so dangerous that coming out unscathed had already been proven wrong.

This was a fight to the death. And Red had no choice but to see it out to the end.

But to what end?


	7. Soon

It was almost over.

The man could see it, the closeness of success. He was almost done. The mission was nearly complete.

The purpose, cold and clear, drove him forward.

"Acquire the target. Kill those around it. Leave nothing alive."

It was almost over.

Red was exhausted. He was tired of it all. Tired of the battle, tired of crying. Tired of the fear. Not the fear of losing, and the finality, but the fear of himself.

He was afraid of himself, because, despite everything, he was enjoying the battle.

The stakes were high. Every wrong move could mean the end. He was on the edge of his seat, pumped and ready. He was forced to constantly think, forced to think of plans and strategies as bodies clashed against each other, every blow designed to kill.

It was the battle he enjoyed. The battle that would go on until only one was left alive. The battle with no holds barred.

And it scared him, because he enjoyed the carnage of this war. No sane person should like this, he thought. Yet I do. Is that all I am? A fighter, constantly battling, never ceasing. Is this who I am?

The boy was down to three pokemon, while he had only lost one. The Weavile had finally gone down to the boy's bird, the Pidgeot, but not after finishing off the Snorlax and Gyrados.

With a mighty cry, the brave bird finally died, impaled on frozen stalactite, courtesy of the massive polar bear in front of him. It roared, a chilling sound. Fitting.

The boy was down to the ends of his strength.

The purpose would be completed.

There was no time for thinking, no time for grief. Pidgeot's body lay on the battlefield, surrounded by ice. It was one among several bodies, including that of Snorlax and Gyrados, deep slashes cries crossing across their bodies.

It was over. Red felt himself collapse. He couldn't bring himself to send out his next pokemon. Not for the same fate as the rest.

He cried. Just 4 days ago, he was the Champion, the strongest trainer in Kanto. He couldn't be beat.

And in a way, it was true. He hadn't been beat. He had been crushed.

Sobs racked his body, along with, strangely, relief. He wasn't a bad person. He was more than that. He was crying for his fallen friends. He was more than just a fighter. That was what that meant, right?

He cried some more, until he realized with a shock that he wasn't crying for his friends. He was crying because he was going to lose. He, Red, the Champion, was going to lose.

Something inside him hardened. It was his heart, though he only found that out later.

He stood slowly, his body shaking. He reached into his belt, withdrawing one of the two pokeballs left. The rest lay shattered at his feet.

He wasn't going to lose. He was going to win.

The man considered killing the boy. It would be too simple. He should have done so already. He had a weapon. The boy wouldn't be able to stop the bullets.

But something stopped the man.

A memory, so deep it was forgotten, had reached up into his conscious. Throughout the battle it had had crowded out his purpose, until now he was drenched in it.

A boy, like the one before him, running through the forest.

Running, running, running. Why?

A bullet, cold and silent, striking the boy. The boy fell.

The boy was dead.

And he was crying.

He hadn't wanted to kill the boy.

But he had to.

The tears jolted the man out of the memory. The purpose flooded his mind, wiping out all traces of the memory, cold and clear.

"Acquire the target. Kill all those around it. Leave none alive."

None alive.

He was almost done.

Both figures stood, opposite each other on the bloodied battlefield. The boy had sent out his little mouse, the Pikachu. His Beartic roared.

The battle was just now beginning.


	8. Fire and Ice

The two pokemon clashed in shards of light and sparks of ice. Pikachu rammed into Beartic with an iron tail, who deftly dodged the attack, rearing up with a mega punch. Pikachu dodged with agility, charging another iron tail as the punch slammed into the ground beneath him. The Beartic took a step back as Pikachu slammed into the ground, sending up rocks, seemingly unable to defend against a ice punch. Just as Beartic's fist neared it it scampered up its arm with quick tackle. Beartic spun, driving Pikachu off its arm and into the air. Pikachu immediately charged up a thunderbolt, fraying the ground inches in front of Beartic, who had lept up into the air with slash. Pikachu, still in midair but now falling, countered with Iron tail, as both attacks met. The shockwave launched them both backward, but Beartic hit the ground first, going immediately into earthquake. Pikachu was shut into the ground as it slammed together. The earthquake stopped and Pikachu emerged, bruised and broken. Beartic reared up with an avalanche attack, and Pikachu countered with shockwave, which slammed into the wall of ice, creating a hazy cloud. Suddenly Pikachu burst through cloud, his body laced with electricity. Volt Tackle. The Beartic couldn't dodge the attack, but instead it put its fists together, creating a wall of ice. Pikachu, unable to stop, slammed into it and went flying. Beartic, jumping deftly into the air, caught the mouse and threw it down. Pikachu hit the ground hard, followed by Beartic, who landed on its feet, launching another earthquake, this one bigger than the last. The ground ripped itself apart as Pikachu was thrown into the depths of the Earth. Then it came together again, sealing Pikachu in an earthy tomb, buried alive.

Red knew it was futile. Pikachu was dead. The body would never again be found. He had lost it all.

There was no more sand. It had been swept up by the fury of the battle, leaving only naked rock which had been beneath it all. Beartic stood on the now exposed rock, glaring defiantly, between the two dark figures. Both were weary, but only one felt grief and pain. The other marched silently on, waiting for the next call.

Somewhere, on another planet, in another time, the sun began to rise.

Red stood, close to dead, at one end if the battlefield.

Was it the end? Was this the end, the end to his journey? A journey which had pushed him, tried him, torn him apart? A journey which was now about to be over in exactly the same way it had began? In grief, and in despair? In death?

He yelled. He could no longer feel grief, so instead he felt fury. He yelled at the gods above him, yelled at this cruel joke, anger and torment ripping out of his tiny body, unleashed at the heavens above.

It. Could. Not. End. This. Way.

He screamed, kept on screaming. All he knew was fire and death. Fire and death. Fire...

Fire.

FIRE.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the last pokeball. Fire and death, fire and death. That was all he was.

Fire, burning softly, powerfully, slowly. Death, cold, hard, final.

He was already death.

Now he would be fire.

The Charizard tore itself from the pokeball, roaring, fire shooting out of every available orifice. The pokeball shattered. Both master and pokemon knew that this battle would be final.

They were one. Their red eyes locked onto each other.

They were one. They breathed as one. They fought as one. What were they, though?

A set of crimson eyes looked at another set of crimson eyes.

They were fire.

Across the battlefield, the man recalled Beartic. His purpose was to finish this battle as soon as possible. He couldn't do that with a type disadvantage.

He sent out his third pokemon. This one was truly a dragon, with a deep blue skin and fiery wings, a helmet on his head. It was a Salamance, one of the fiercest of all dragon types.

The purpose. That was all he was. He was the purpose.

Cold and clear.

The two monsters seemed to dance through the sky. The twirled,mentioned together in some primeval dance, a tribute to the angry gods in the heavens. Fire blanketed the sky as the battled, writhing and spinning, blasting each other with fire, ice, water, thunder, wind. Biting and slashing.

Again and again the slammed into each other, into the earth, into the very core of the earth. The fought in the sea, in the sky, in the stars. Their bodies, blackened with fire, bloodied with bites. Red in tooth and claw.

The two trainers were silent below, fighting as one with the beast, each feeling the blows that they rained upon each other.

The battlefield was awash with flames. Far away in town, a little girl woke up. She thought she heard thunder. She tiptoed across her room and looked out the window.

In the distance, she saw the dragons, indistinguishable from each other, black silhouettes in a glowing background. She went back to sleep and dreamed of fire and death. Of cold and pain.

The battle raged on for centuries. Both trainers were wary. They couldn't think words mushed together without an .

Theywerelikeknivesinthedarkmemoriesurpassed.

JIM!

ESPEON!

WE NEED TO GO!

NOOOOO!

No.

No.

It couldn't be.

So cold, he was so cold. So very, very cold.

Above, the heavens ripped open and water washed the flames away as dawn filled the sky.

Three had fallen. The beasts, and the boy. The man slowly walked toward him, the rain drenching him. His dark hair flopped onto his face.

The battle had been difficult. But in the end, the man had won.

He walked over to one of the beasts, black with ashes,red with blood.

The target.

He bent down slowly and extracted a small hypodermic needle. He injected it into the beast.

Blood rushed into the syringe.

The man finished and stood up. He pulled out his .22 and looked at the beast. It was somehow still alive, breathing slowly and surely, but still alive.

He fired into the skull of the lizard.

Across the world, six men sat around a dark table. The silver screen showed the man, their man, acquiring his target. Satisfied, their man walked over to the fallen boy.

All those knew the mission. Acquire the target. Kill those around it. Leave none alive.

Someone switched off the screen. One by one the men left. They didn't need to see this.

After all, they were men with things to do and places to be.

The man looked curiously at the boy. He was breathing heavily, the crimson eyes stinged with blood, somehow, though crippled and defeated, looking defiantly at the man.

The man reached out with his weapon, aiming it at the boys head.

"Acquire the target. Kill all those around it. Leave none alive."

His purpose, cold and clear.

Like him.

Cold.

Clear.

The man fired once.


	9. The Beginning of the End

"Has the mission been accomplished?"

He nodded.

"Your purpose is fulfilled?"

Another nod.

"Good. Take him down."

The man didn't protest as he was lowered into a glass tub filled with water. It was clear, and the water was cold. He closed his eyes as electricity was sent into the tub.

When he opened them again, he was given a new purpose.

"Acquire the target. Kill all those around it. Leave none alive."

The man nodded. He didn't know who he was, or where he was. All he knew was his purpose.

Cold and clear.

The boy awoke amidst the falling snow. He turned his head to one side, then the other, taking in his surroundings. Then he got up.

Only then did he remember.

The battle, the fire. Dead. All my friends dead.

And then another thought, blocking all the rest out.

I lost.

He looked down, at his clothing, in shreds.

I lost.

He stood up slowly.

There was no grief, no anger. He had but one purpose.

I lost.

I can't lose.

He walked toward the mountain ahead of him.

I won't lose again.

Cold, and clear.


End file.
